


White Rose

by Xanateria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AO3 1 Million, AU, Angst, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanateria/pseuds/Xanateria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War is over. Harry reflects on how things turned out and the true cost of the happy ending he managed to buy for everyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Rose

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on my LJ in 2006. I wanted to post something in honour of the 1 million works milestone, so I've cleaned this up, edited a bit and here we are. Inspired by arrmaitee's The Reunion on Livejournal. It’s lovely. If you haven’t read it you should.

As usual, my thoughts scatter while I attempt to get ready, ignoring the lingering ache from wounds I have been assured will heal. I dress on autopilot most days, but today it was a good thing my body knew the basics, because my brain had started its train of thought without me. Looking into the eyes of a stranger in the mirror, I couldn’t help but start remembering. Makes me wish I drank, but even that doesn’t stop the thinking, I have reason to know.

Everyone thought I’d get a place in an upscale Wizarding neighbourhood. But being in the Muggle world is easier. Here I’m no one’s hero. Not a saviour. Just a kid. A kid who’s most likely gone right bonkers, added to that, but just plain, ordinary me at least. Why bonkers? Well, apparently, if you save the world, and have a completely peaceful, prosperous life laid out for you, the least you're supposed to do is be happy about it. Oh and be completely fine with things when you wake up to even more fame and notoriety, even though that's the last bloody thing you wanted. And the fact that you had to kill people to get all of this? Well that’s apparently just supposed to be a minor inconvenience.

I can’t say I’m all that sorry Voldemort is dead. But I don’t see his death as a reason I should be famous all over again. I wasn’t the only one there. I wasn’t the only hero on our side. Comes down to it, a few of the heroes of this war weren’t even on our side. They died doing what was right. They died horribly, at the hands of a madman, because they saw him for what he really was. If the Wizarding world needs heroes, I would prefer they look to its martyrs. The dead don’t care how many headlines they get, and don’t have to care what the papers will say next if they say two words to some girl at the local market.

And at least surrounded by those without magic, I don’t get asked what I’m going to do now. I mean really, what did they think? It's not like I actually expected to survive going up against a raving but extremely powerful psychotic. It’s not like I was long on life planning, unless you count my will, which I’ve updated regularly since I was about fifteen. More often than not my socks don’t match, my houseplants all die from lack of care, and the only time I get three squares a day is if I’m having a visit with friends who actually have an appetite.

For my entire life other people made my decisions, directly or indirectly. I honestly wouldn’t mind if someone told me what to do now. What job to get, when to go out, what to eat. That sort of thing. Because I just don’t really care. I am glad my friends are safe. I’m glad their families are safe. I’m glad that the world, be it Wizard or Muggle, will continue. But I am not so sure if I want to. People think they know me because they know what I did. I killed someone who needed killing because the Fates and those on the side of the Light decided I should. By all accounts, I’m lucky to be alive. I should be celebrating. I should be overjoyed. I should at least be happy. The day people started resenting that I’m not, I rented my flat. It’s hardly fair that own rather twisted psyche gets in the way of everyone else’s happiness.

But everyone else left alive has someone to be happy with. And the can’t understand why I don’t, and don’t want to rectify the situation. They’ve all devoured every shred of anything written about what happened, and all the various tales of my history and exploits, so they think they know me. They think they know everything there is to know about my life. As I open the door, and check carefully to be sure I am alone, I know differently. Well actually, a couple of people know differently. Ron and Hermione of course. And the other members of DA that helped plan things. But no one knew it all. I hadn’t told them. That part of my life was just for me. If I told, someone might have found out, and then there would be no peace, and worse more press, which I could definitely do without. Wrapping the cloak tightly around me that I had bought just for today, I rechecked once more and Apparated.

It’s cold, a deep down chill that had an edge to it that would cut glass. I didn't care. This is one place I know the press won't be. Neither is anyone else. They all have better places to go. I make my way over to him carefully, knowing he’s there, waiting. 

“I’m sorry I took so long. It was harder getting here than I thought it would be.” Indeed a new ache was spreading in my chest as I spoke. But I forced the rest of the words out. “I know this is how it has to be, but I miss you. I don’t know how to be without you. That’ll teach me for getting attached to you I guess, just like you said.” 

For a moment, I thought he might answer, but that of course was just wishful thinking.

I stood alone, huddled in my cloak, staring at the marble marker I had paid for. The Ministry hadn’t freed up his accounts in the aftermath of the battle. It had taken a few days and the threat of truth serum for them to believe that Draco had not only switched sides, but that he had been the one to lead the strike force to the Dark Lord's lair. And no one but me knew the whole truth: that I had believed in him because I’d fallen for him days - hell probably years - before that, and that we had been lovers for nearly a year before the day I’d killed Voldemort. That I still loved him so much I couldn’t believe he was gone.

_Draco Malfoy._  
One of Many Who Died to Save Us All.   
He will be missed. He is loved very much. 

So little said on the cold marble. I know the press assumed his mother paid for it. But Narcissa hadn’t loved him. I did. 

I'm alive but my reason for living isn’t. I reached into the pocket of my cloak for the white rose I’d purchased earlier. I knew the cold will kill it, but it seemed appropriate. It was as beautiful as Draco, and as cold and alone as me. How very fitting.

***FIN***


End file.
